Chapter Text
“Why is your father’s name on the calendar for Sunday?” Miranda sternly asked her daughters after triple-checking the sturdy calendar booklet.
The color on Cassidy’s face drained, and Caroline shared her sister’s expression but also let out an amused smile.
“You forgot to tell Mom?” the less scared of the twins asked.
“I did not! I must have mentioned it- at some point!” Cassidy’s doubtful tone made it seem she was trying to convince herself. Miranda raised an eyebrow in growing irritation, her question still unanswered. Cassidy curled a wild short strand of her red hair behind her ear.
“D-dad got me last-minute tickets to a concert, okay? I guess I forgot to tell you.”
Miranda wanted a calm Saturday morning, with the issue for next month strangely ahead of schedule, her mind wasn't running as usual. She was actually looking forward to the weekend, thinking of taking the girls out. But this unexpected event might have ruined it. As they all sat on the kitchen island, the sweet breakfast seemed spoiled.
“Cassidy Priestly,” Miranda made sure to pronounce every vowel soundly, “is this the same concert I firmly said no to you going to last month?”
“Uh- yeah, but you said that because I was grounded,” Cassidy was born with her mother’s fire, challenging her, “I got my grades up, and since you rarely enforce anything-”
“Excuse me?” Miranda felt as if she had woken up in an alternative universe; her children were properly spoiled, sure, but they had never dared to speak improperly to anyone, especially their mother.
“It’s true, mom,” Caroline chimed in, “plus I think dad got the tickets before Cass even asked you f-”
“Shut up, Caroline! You are not helping!”
“Cassidy!” Miranda roared.
“What?” Cassidy stood up from her chair, “Mom, you don't get to pretend to care what we are up to. You stopped doing that years ago.”
Without letting her mother come up with a proper answer, Cassidy stormed off; every single one of her steps on the creaking staircase seemed to cause the home to shake. Miranda seemed to deflate as she watched her daughter reach what she could only describe as the peak of her teenage phase. Though her daughter’s words did carry heavy meaning.
“... I also have a ticket to the conc-”
“Please, let me be alone for a second, Caroline,” Miranda whispered as she massaged her temple. With an eyeroll and a dramatic sigh, Caroline followed her twin’s way.
_________________________________________________________________
Andy’s phone buzzed, its low tone persistent enough to wake her from slumber.
“Hello?” Her voice was raspy with sleep, her eyes missing the caller’s name.
“Andrea?” Miranda spoke from the other line.
Shit. Andy suddenly felt the strongest deja vu panic she had ever experienced, already sitting up from her bed to run to Starbucks to get her boss her morning coffee. Wait a minute, she stopped working for Miranda almost a year ago, this wasn't a Starbucks call. But then her mind fog cleared as she heard a rare, low chuckle from her phone.
“Did I wake you?” Miranda’s soft tone was like a shot straight to Andy’s heart, making her skin feel hot. Right, she wasn't Miranda’s employee anymore, she was her maybe-sorta-partner.
“Uh- no?” the younger woman bit her lower lip, “I mean- yes- but it's alright, I had to get up anyway. What's up?”
Smooth, Andy, smooth.
“Never mind, I’ll let you rest.”
“No! Please,” Andy held the phone with an unnecessarily tight grip, “what can I do for you, Miranda?”
The brunette had wisened up; the comforting, strong tone she used to say Miranda’s name made the older woman feel flutters in her stomach.
“My weekend has recently cleared up, a rarity, as you know,” she wiped nonexistent dust off her counter, “and I was considering asking you to come for a little while.”
Andy chuckled at a low-hanging joke she could make, though if she did, the offer might vanish.
“Well, I have to pop into the office for a couple of hours, but I'm free after four.”
There was a beat of silence. The two women basking in comforting company, though physically many boroughs away.
“Alright, then,” Miranda whispered, not waiting for Andy to bid her goodbye before ending the call.
_______________________________________
Andy didn't even re-read her work, leaving her office in a hurry. Miranda was not clear about how long Andy could stay over, but the young woman packed a few essentials into her work bag. Everything but clothes, those are never needed when spending the night at Miranda’s.
At a quarter past four, a jittery journalist knocked on Miranda’s brownstone. It felt as if every passerby was staring, though no one actually noticed her; her racing heartbeat drowned out rational thought. She raised her hand to knock a third time when the door finally opened.
“Break the door while you’re at it, why don’t you?” Miranda snapped, pulling Andy inside with a single icy glance.
Before their newfound… affection of sorts, Andy would've been shaking in fear at Miranda’s clear annoyance, but now she found it extremely hot.
As soon as Miranda locked the door, Andy dissolved into giggles.
“Are the girls here?” the brunette whispered.
“No,” Miranda sighed, “unexpected weekend at their fath-"
She was stopped by Andy, who pushed her onto the closed doors, immediately devouring her mouth. Miranda moaned into the kiss, already getting a firm grip on Andy’s hair. The brunette exhaled at the sweet, sweet pain from her partner’s nails. Andy’s body was basically drowning Miranda’s; little space was left to breathe. Once they were running out of air, Andy moved to the editor’s neck, biting, kissing, and leaving brief marks. Miranda's skin grew scorching hot, especially when the younger woman’s leg was conveniently placed between her thighs.
“Someone’s eager,” Miranda gasped as Andy’s hand roamed her hips. “I don’t have the youthful bones to stand here all afternoon, Andrea.”
“You’re fine,” Andy purred, her voice low, “no more acting shy with me.”
Andy kissed Miranda again, her fingers possessive on Miranda’s now-marked neck. She’d learned last time how much Miranda craved surrender. After decades spent commanding the world, handing over control in the bedroom was a relief the editor deeply desired. Andy pressed her thigh deeper between Miranda's, getting rewarded with a sinful moan from her. Miranda’s hands didn't know where to go, and Andrea hadn't taken off her coat, leaving very few openings for skin contact. Andy noticed her partner’s growing frustration and, without breaking contact with Miranda’s lips, pushed the coat down onto the floor. She wasn't dressed to impress by any means, in a white tank top and some old jeans. A stark difference to Miranda’s expensive yoga pants and cashmere cardigan that could get ruined if Andy’s lipstick got on it.
“Did you see the pictures I sent you yesterday?” the brunette chirped between breaths for air, “I think I'm getting better at this whole photography thing.”
Miranda's low chuckles sent vibrations straight to Andy’s core, “They were… acceptable.”
Andrea raised an eyebrow and stopped kissing Miranda.
“Just ‘acceptable’?”
Miranda whined at the lack of contact.
“You never settle for just ‘acceptable’, Miranda,” Andy took hold of Miranda’s thighs, lifting her off the ground, “I have to do better.”
___________________________________________
Time goes fast when two bodies meet, especially if said bodies rarely cross paths. Miranda wasn't planning to let Andy stay the night, but how could she say no to those eyes? Andy had convinced the older woman to stay without needing a strong argument or words at all.
Miranda emerged from her shower wrapped in a Ralph Lauren robe, wet hair neatly combed. She was utterly exhausted; it would take a miracle to restore her energy. And that miracle came in the form of a bare Andy crossing her path and entering the steam-filled bathroom.
“Excuse me,” Andy chimed as she closed the door to the master bathroom. She knew what she was doing.
Miranda’s stone face cracked into a slight smile as she sat in front of her vanity. Before going into her strenuous night routine, she couldn't help but notice her swollen lips and marks all over her torso. She was going to kill Andy; the woman was already breaking the rules of not leaving any evidence behind. But Miranda found herself tracing the marks, skin flushing at the thought of Andy wanting to make sure she knew who her body belonged to. Miranda’s infantile daydreaming was interrupted by Andy talking from the bathroom.
“Shit!” the younger woman exclaimed, “Miranda, could you get me my contact lens case? It's in my bag!”
Miranda rolled her eyes, “No need to yell, Andrea, I'm right here.”
Andy quietly mocked her partner’s reprimand, but it was mumbled enough to deny any wrongdoing.
The older woman rose and found Andy’s bag thrown half haphazardly on the floor. She found the plastic container with ease and began walking towards the bathroom when a piece of paper from Andy’s bag fell onto the floor. Miranda picked it up, cursing the brunette’s cluttering habits. She wouldn't have paid much mind to the business card if it weren't for the red colored writing on it.
Call me, it read, a pen-drawn circle highlighting a phone number.
Odd. Miranda thought. She wasn't one to pry; she cared very little for others' personal lives. But Andy wasn't just anybody. Or was she? The card didn't say much about who it belonged to, only a name, Clark Oakley. The card was nice cardstock, which gave the feeling of high standing.
“Did you find it?!” Andy’s screeching cut through Miranda’s thoughts.
The editor quickly put the card back into the bag and laid it on the nearest chair. Andy’s hand reached out of the bathroom, opening and closing it as a sign of reaching out. Miranda softly dropped the case into her palm.
“Thank you, beautiful,” the younger woman chuckled before closing the door again.
The editor stood there for a moment, listening as Andy turned to the faucet, humming an unknown tune. This annoyance growing on her temple cannot be jealousy. That's unfair; she is not with Andy. Far from it. People who are together don't have to hide; people who date each other don't see each other on rare occasions; people in a relationship don't carry calling cards from men named Clark Oakly.
Miranda bit the inside of her cheek, lips pursed once she sat back on her vanity. She recalls the annoyance that bubbled in her stomach when Andy walked into the fundraiser with the line cook in hand. It's a similar feeling to right now. No, not similar. It's even more potent now that Andy’s taste was fresh in her tongue. She carried on with her night routine, harshly opening and closing products, little patience for them. There was a moment where she just stared at her reflection. It makes sense why Andy would have suitors. She was breathtaking, kind…strong. Young, above all else, is the pinnacle of her life. She could have anyone; that was clear. And yet, she is here. In a brownstone on the Upper East Side, in her ex-boss’s bathroom. Her boss is older than she would like to admit. Mother of two. Yes, Miranda was also exquisite, that was never questioned, but in a very different way Andy was.
She doesn’t belong with Andrea.
As that thought settled in, warm, damp arms slipped around Miranda’s neck. The grounding scent of sandalwood and Andy’s natural scent could erase any rational thought Miranda could muster. Almost.
Andy pressed her lips to Miranda’s hair, eyes closed in quiet adoration.
“Penny for your thoughts?” the brunette whispered into Miranda’s silver locks.
The dragon lady offered a half grin, “You’ll need more than a penny for those, Andrea.”
Andy leaned down, placing a delicate kiss on Miranda’s cheek.
“I figured.”